


Meet Me In The Snow

by Venchaser



Series: Stiles's Totally Average Student Life [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Civil Engineer! Derek, Comfort, Fluff, Hurt, Hurt and comfort, M/M, McHale! Family, Oneshot, Scott and derek are brothers, Stood Up, Student!Stiles, Tinder matching, Waiting alone in the cold, Winter, Wintery story, Working!Derek, feel good story, sterek, waiting alone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-16
Updated: 2014-09-16
Packaged: 2018-02-17 16:32:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2316167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Venchaser/pseuds/Venchaser
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Oneshot. They met on Tinder. Everything seemed perfect. They agreed to go on a date. Meet me at the Railway Station?<br/>He never showed up. And there I stood, waiting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meet Me In The Snow

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys. Some notes first:
> 
> The railway station described here is the Central Station in Antwerp, Belgium. It was quite difficult describing the complexity of the station. Please check out the station on google, it is truly spectacular and breathtaking. The city where it all takes place can be visualized as Antwerp.  
> Agewise (for those interested):  
> -Stiles is 20  
> -Derek is 24

Meet me in the snow

It was snowing. Stiles was breathing out little clouds and breathing in little ice crystals. The little snowflakes danced on the wind. The sky was overcast by gloomy grey. He stood in front of the grand railway station building. He was leaning against one of the pillars near the sliding doors of the waiting hall, trying to dig his hands deeper into the pockets of his coat to protect them from the harsh air that tried to nip his hands. He already lost the feeling in his nose. He kicked some slush off his Chuck Taylors.

His date was twenty-five minutes late. A short ringtone notified Stiles his date would not be showing up for another thirty minutes. Stiles made a mental note never to agree on going on a date with someone he met on Tinder again. Normal people would’ve left, but Stiles felt compelled to stay as it was his first date in four years. A rather long dry spell he wasn’t very proud of. The guy he was meeting was named Jackson Whittemore. Jackson had the appearance of an Abercrombie & Fitch model; eyes of an angel, but smile of the devil. The two had some hobbies in common, including lacrosse and videogames. Yet, the main reason Stiles agreed to go out with Jackson was the way he made him feel: special, handsome, funny – and even though he hadn’t met him in real life – Stiles felt a real connection. Jackson managed to say the right words at the right time. The only things Stiles was feeling right now, however, were a full bladder, a rumbling stomach and an ice goblin chewing on his toes and nose.

Stiles had enough of the biting cold and decided he’d wait inside the train station. Welcomed by a warm breeze of the air conditioning, he surveyed the colossal waiting room, although hall would be a more fitting term. The great hall resembled the courtyard of an impressive stone building. A vast dome had been built over the structure to create one enormous hall. At the end of the hall was an elegant staircase that led to the first level where several platforms were. There were four floors in total: one upper level, one ground level and two underground levels. There were two doorways near the bottom of the staircase that led to the atrium which led to more platforms and several indoor shops. All the floors were connected by a series of elevators and escalators. Near the entrance of the atrium, past the maze of little halls where the lockers were located, was a Starbucks, but at the moment they were renovating, making it impossible for Stiles to seek refuge there and escape in a glorious cup of pumpkin spice latté. Instead, he was forced to sit on a wooden bench near one of the massive stone pillars.

Stiles let his eyes feast on the grandness and architectural exuberance around him. Stiles had no idea what the different styles influenced the architect of this wonderful creation, but he knew he appreciated the building in all its glory.

‘Excuse you, spare a dollar for a poor man?’

Suddenly, out of nowhere, a large man had materialized in front of Stiles, standing only a few centimetres away from him. Stiles felt his personal space – and sense of smell – was being violated severely.

‘Sorry, I’ve got nothing.’ Stiles replied apologetically. The emaciated man, reeking of booze and sick, eyed Stiles suspiciously before spitting on the ground and turning away, looking for someone else to give him his dollar.

Stiles did feel a bit bad about not being able to help the man, but his father had taught him not to give these people money. Instead, his father would say, you could donate to good causes that strive to get those people off the streets and give them shelter and a warm meal. At least then you’d be certain your money wouldn’t be wasted on booze and drugs. And so Stiles made a habit of donating ten dollars every two months to the local homeless shelter. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

A young woman, holding a child, gave him a quick glance. Stiles wasn’t sure if it was pity or something else. He was wearing a grey winter trench coat, black pants and fiery red Chuck Taylors. He thought he didn’t look too shabby, so that couldn’t be it which drew attention to him. He always considered himself a bit of a wallflower in public places.

His brown hair was a little moist from the snow that was now melting. Occasionally, a few drops would fall on the floor, creating a little puddle, reflecting the dome. Most people were in a hurry, trying to catch their train, hoping they wouldn’t be home too late. Snow tended to mess up train schedules after all. Other people were sauntering. These persons would take in the beauty of the waiting hall, and usually spared Stiles a glance. Some mimicked the woman’s look: a strange mixture of pity and speculating. Who was that boy? Why is he looking so sad? They would think that, Stiles thought. Could they sense his deep uncertainty? Stiles was wondering if Jackson hadn’t stood him up, or if this was all a mean practical joke. Jackson perhaps was too good to be true.

An elderly couple passed him now. The woman wiped the snow off her coat. Some of it found its way onto Stiles’ trousers.

‘Oh dear, I’m terribly sorry!’

‘It’s okay.’ Stiles smiled warmly. The woman replied with an equally warm and kind smile and tightened the grip around her husband’s arms.

Stiles got his phone out once more, seeing if Jackson hadn’t miraculously teleported and had arrived at the railway station. One new message, informed his screen. It was from Jackson, informing he was almost there. Stiles’ heart skipped a beat. Any minute now, he thought.

The minutes seemed to turn into days, and the days into weeks. The people that passed Stiles now were nothing more than a blur. Their faces distorted, all distinctive features erased carefully. The sound also was changing: the echoing footsteps that ricocheted through the hall were muted, the soft buzzing of human voices was reduced to a soft silence the robotic voice announcing the departing and arriving trains disappeared. Stiles could only hear something that resembled white noise, but not quite. His world, his life was about to be changed. He could feel it. He had already informed Jackson that he was waiting inside the building.

And then nothing happened. Jackson never showed up. Stiles received one more text: I can’t do this.

And just like that, the barrier that had kept out the faces and the sounds shattered. A deafening sound reverberated throughout the hall. A stinging river of tears was forming behind his eyes. The sound hurt. His heart and pride hurt. In the cacophony of sounds, Stiles heard a warm, familiar voice saying his name.

‘Stiles? Stiles Stilinski?’

Fighting through the watery haze, Stiles locked eyes with a soft forest in the eyes of the man standing in front of him.

‘Derek? What are you doing here?’ Stiles sniffled, hoping he could pass it for a cold. He casually tried to erase all traces of the escaped tears.

‘Going home. My place’s just around the corner. I just went to the store, and the railway station’s a shortcut. Something wrong? Are you hurt?’ The warm baritone voice helped him calm down a bit.

‘Nah, I’m fine. I just got stood up, it seems.’ A new horde of tears were gathering. Stiles cursed himself for being this emotional in a public place.

Derek looked at him, seemingly moulding something in his mind. After a few seconds, a little spark appeared in the forest of Derek’s eyes.

‘Do you want to come to my place? I take it you haven’t eaten yet, seeing it’s around dinnertime.’

Stiles was taking aback by the abruptness of the invitation. He tried to emulate Lydia’s cool and unfazing demeanour, but failed miserably to do so. He let out a grateful whine and hugged Derek. The plastic bags in Derek’s hands rustled.

‘Alright,’ Derek looked somewhat uncomfortable. ‘Let’s go then.’

Derek is Scott’s older brother. Scott is Stiles’ best friend. Stiles met Scott in kindergarten, they bonded over a mutual fondness for a certain teddy bear. They have been inseparable ever since. Derek was four years older than Scott, and was usually not very present. Scott used to say he was a bit shy. The last time Stiles had seen Derek was a year ago, during a Christmas dinner at the McHale house. Derek had just graduated summa cum laude. Now, he's a licensed civil engineer. Stiles would be lying if he said he had never fantasized about his best friend’s brother. Derek was, unfortunately, the total package according to Stiles: tall, dark-haired, green eyes, designer stubble, and decorous. Scott did, however, mention once that Derek had a nasty tendency to be a bit surly. Stiles always wondered why he’d say such a thing as he had never caught Derek in a bad mood before. Then again, he hadn’t grown up around Derek.

The two men exited the waiting hall and were welcomed by a ruthless, icy gust of snow and smoke. Derek mentioned his flat was only a short five minute walk. The snow and dirty slush would probably add a few extra minutes to the travel time.

They walked in silence. It was a gentle silence. They followed the main road, but soon entered one of the many side streets the old city was known for leaving the filthy slush behind them and finding a fresh, untouched layer of snow covering the small street. The snowy carpet crunched under their feet.

Stiles loved the snow. It could bury anything in a soft blanket. Covering everything to silence it. There was a certain purity to it.

A nasty thought slipped in the dark crevices of Stiles’ mind. What if Jackson saw you, but decided you weren’t worth his time? What if you really are a worthless piece of garbage? You’re not really interesting, just overly loud; a trait most find more annoying than endearing. Your looks aren’t anything special, so why should anyone pay attention to you? You are always interested in the weirdest things. You were an outcast in high school and you will remain one for the rest of your life. No one would want to be with you. Why don’t you go and cry to mommy? Oh wait, you can’t, she’s …’

‘We’re here.’

Stiles hadn’t exactly been paying attention to anything anymore and bumped into Derek. He was absorbed by his dark train of thoughts. It was a side of himself he had no control over whatsoever. He hated himself for it.

‘You okay?’ Concern poured out the question.

‘I’m fine.’ Stiles replied coarsely.

They had arrived at a nondescript flat. A plain white block. Here and there light crept out the creaks of the closed curtains.

They entered the building, their shoes formed little wet shoeprints on the floor.

‘I’m on the third floor. No elevator, sorry.’ Derek stated dryly.

Stiles let out a little grunt. That’s okay, he wanted to convey. He felt drained of energy and happiness. If Derek noticed something was off, he didn’t let it show.

The rather strenuous climb to the third floor cleared Stiles' head, even if it was for just a bit. Derek dumped the plastic bag with groceries unceremoniously to search for his keys. The white hall was as innocuous and simple as the building itself. A couple of lights were installed against the wall. The big window at the end revealed a stunning view of the city at night. It was a city of light: neon, multi-coloured, fading, flickering, dying, bright and incandescent. Stiles unconsciously moved closer to the pulsing heart of light, a strong hand got hold of his and dragged him inside a spacious flat. Derek flipped the light switch, magnifying the room even more.

The room seemed so open was due to the fact there was barely any furniture: a single table with four chairs, a black leather couch, and a flat screen television which hung against the wall. The left wall was just one big window revealing another breath-taking view of the city. On a bright day, the view must surely be amazing, Stiles thought. Fat snowflakes were falling down now. The sky had turned to a dark grey.

Derek, heading towards the kitchen, excused himself to Stiles for the non-existent messy state of his home while ushering his guest into one of the chairs.

‘I’m afraid I don’t have a lot to offer. Is water okay?’ he peered over the refrigerator door.

‘That’s fine.’ Stiles replied dolefully, and appeared several years older.

Derek wasn’t too sure how to deal with the current situation. Maybe Stiles would lighten up if he had a decent meal. Derek could hear the young man’s stomach rumble across the room. The open kitchen made it easy for Derek to keep an eye on the fading boy. He missed the goofy grin that usually bounced across Stiles’ face.

‘You love spaghetti, right?’ A ghost of a smile shortly haunted Stiles’ lips.

‘Only second to curly fries!’ Derek’s heart maybe skipped a little beat. He realized how much Stiles reminded him of home. And of other things.

Hearing that there’d soon be a plate steaming pasta in front of him lifted Stiles’ spirits a bit. He engaged in the friendly, but somewhat restrained, conversation with Derek, who was busy preparing the tomato sauce. They talked about their lives, Stiles about his studies at the university and Derek about his work. Stiles informed Derek of all the trouble he and Scott had gotten themselves into: ‘So then he tries to get me out of the mud pool, but slips and falls in himself.’

They also discussed a common hobby: video gaming. Derek ruefully admitted he did not have so much time as he used; work had been quite demanding lately. He did occasionally log onto Guild Wars 2, or played some Black Ops on his PS3.

The clock struck quarter past seven and dinner was served. They continued chatting about whatever popped into their minds, but mostly Stiles’ mind. Food certainly worked miracles on his mood. Derek put on the television to catch the news. The true beauty of his home laid in the fact that it was open, and thus you could practically hear and see everything, except the bedroom, bathroom and toilet, for obvious reasons. The news anchor announced the storm had taken a turn for the worse, and that people were advised to remain indoors. All public transport services had been cancelled for the night.

‘How could anything this beautiful cause so much trouble?’ wondered Stiles out loud, gazing outside, admiring the specks of crystalline dust which had covered the entire city in a silver blanket.

‘You could also help me out, clearing the table,’ Derek playfully said, juggling two plates and a pot to the kitchen. ‘Besides, I’d think there were more pressing matters at hand. How are you gonna get home, for example? Or informing your dad?’

Stiles turned to Derek, his face comically blank. ‘I have no idea. Hold on.’ Stiles ran across the apartment to his coat, retrieving his phone. ‘Just a moment.’

Derek decided to give Stiles some privacy and shortly retreated to the bathroom with comfortable clothes. When he returned Stiles and asked how it went, Stiles had a bit of a jump scare.

‘Ah, well about that. Funny story. You don’t mind if I stay the night here, right? I kinda told my dad you were okay with it.’

The blank stare Derek gave him wasn’t exactly comforting. Oh no, he thought, he’s going to kick me out. I’ll freeze to death in the streets. And in the morning my corpse will be either an ice-popsicle or half-eaten by a wild pack of rabid Alsatians.

‘Okay. You mind we move to the couch?’

Taken aback, Stiles just nodded. Once settled comfortably on the leather sofa, Derek could not help but ask about the elephant in the room.

‘So, what happened?’

‘Whatever do you mean?’ Stiles sheepishly asked, batting his long eyelashes a few times. He tried to cover the painful moment by a failing sense of humour.

Derek gave him his trademark no-nonsense glare.

Stiles sighed deeply. ‘I had met this guy on Tinder. He was perfect, perhaps too perfect. We agreed to meet at five at the station. And, as you know, he never showed up. He texted me he was late at first, but his final text was just an apology. After that, I just had a bad moment. Dark thoughts, you know.’ He looked up at Derek, who had moved a bit closer.

‘Dark thoughts again?’

‘I can’t help it. It’s a side of me I can’t control. I’m not proud of it either that I could relapse so quickly. I tried but…’ He felt his heart starting to sink again in that black pit. But it was raised almost immediately. Derek took his hand and gave a little squeeze.

‘It’s okay.’

Stiles smiled.

‘Hey, remember the one time you got home with that puppy?’

The two reminisced together, every now and then they would fall silent and watch the television for a while.

‘Say, what’s behind that door?’ Stiles curiously enquired, pointing towards a closed door next to the television.

‘Is it a closet with all the bodies of the people you’ve murdered? Or is it filled with your favourite porn magazines? Oh, but you have the internet now so… I’m not too sure. What do you prefer? Internet or magazines?’ A mischievous grin, rivalling the one of the Cheshire cat, danced on his lips.

‘I keep my dead bodies there. I use Febreze to keep everything minty fresh though. And I prefer the internet, just like you and Scott. Remember?’ Derek deadpanned. He was referring to the time Stiles stayed over for a night when he and Scott were teenagers, and they were browsing some X-rated sites. Derek came in to borrow a book. He hadn’t knocked. Very embarrassing situation for all parties involved.

‘Shut up!’ Stiles acted mock-hurt. He wanted to stand up, but his left foot was sleeping and fell in Derek’s lap. Their noses touched.

‘Oh shit. Sorry. Ha-ha, my bad.’ Stiles backed away quickly, fervently rubbing his foot back to life.

Derek said nothing and stood up, and went to the mysterious door.

‘Allow me to blow,’ he paused, hand on doorknob, ‘your mind.’

A dark, gaping hole was revealed. A quick push on a switch, however, revealed a private library.

Stiles let out a silent gasp, his mouth wide open in amazement. ‘No way.’

‘I feel like Beauty right now.’ He told Derek, eyes still focussed on the impressive collection of books.

‘That makes you the Beast, by the way.’ He added as a little afterthought.

Derek closed the door, and let Stiles take in the millions of words that were collected here.

Stiles admired the numerous books in the little private library. Derek was right behind him.

‘Stiles.’ He simply said.

 For some reason, Stiles’ breath hitched, his heart started pounding loudly in his chest, trying to escape from its corporeal prison. A swarm of crystal butterflies gathered in his stomach. He turned around and Derek came even closer.

‘Stiles.’ He began. There were only three more words after that.

Derek pushed Stiles in the corner, between the rows of books and lifted him, hands firmly placed on his buttocks. Derek gave a little squeeze as he pressed into Stiles, thrusting him against the wooden shelves. Their burning eyes locked. Stiles’ heart had moved to his throat. He moved his hands behind Derek’s neck, grabbing a bit of chestnut hair. Their lips passionately met each other in a soft kiss. The kiss soon deepened. It was a haze of lust, but not only that. All things unspoken were present in the library. Forgotten memories rushed back into Stiles mind. Derek hugging him after his mother died, an experimental kiss in Derek’s bedroom while Scott quickly went to the store, summers briefly shared together. They were both greedy, yet selfless, hungrily tasting each other. Stiles hands had started roaming Derek’s body. Long fingers explored the ruggedness of the broad shoulders and back over the rough textile of the woollen sweater. Derek expanded the kiss, tentatively licking the other’s lips. They stopped, for a moment, heavy breathing broke the silence that hung in the air. An uncertain look was shared, what was going to happen next? There was only one path left. Their tongues met, wet, warm, slippery. The contact was answered with a soft moan from Stiles which exhilarated Derek. His blood boiled.

He moved his mouth to Stiles’ neck, shoving his head in the books, forcefully biting his neck, leaving marks. Stiles knew Derek was more experienced than he was. It frightened him. Stiles was still cautiously exploring Derek’s body, pulling at the fabric of the sweater, tugging it when Derek licked a soft spot, breathing heavily. Tentatively, he slipped his hands underneath the clothes, his cool touch met the burning skin. Stiles took his time, unhurriedly exploring the surface of Derek’s body. Stiles decided he was ready for the next step. He had read dozens of scenes like this in books; he could describe the senses, his experience, seen hundreds of movies with a fervent meeting of lovers; he could see it all happening. And now he could feel it too. He moved his head forward, licking Derek’s ear, biting the earlobe playfully at first but then roughing up. Stiles whispered non-coherent noises into his ears. Eventually, he moved away and let his head rest against the book rack again, a low sigh escaped his lips. More, he wanted more. The touches trilled him, teased him, goaded him. He wanted Derek to be even closer to him.  Derek had unbuttoned his dress shirt, tracing his fingers along Stiles’ upper body, playing tantalizingly with his nipple, massaging it with his thumb, licking and biting it. The gasps that escaped from Stiles aroused Derek to no end, he wanted to taste more. He moved his hands to Stiles’ hands, fingers intertwining. He guides Stiles’ arms above his head, and went in for another deep kiss. The soft leather covers of the books caressed their hands.

The pure abundance of emotions and sensations almost drove him over the edge. He started to recite favourite passages of philosophy books to keep his cool. But it didn’t help, his mind was clouded by a lusty haze. He saw the edge, and peered into the depths. Stiles let out a silent gasp, pressed Derek against his chest, firmly grasping his hair, he couldn’t keep it in anymore and let out three simple words. 

‘I missed you.’

\--

Stiles woke up, sheets hugging his body. Derek laid next to him, peacefully asleep. Stiles quietly rolled out of the bed. He tiptoed towards to closed curtains. He opened the curtains a bit and peeked through the revealed divide in the heavy cloths. A brilliant tapestry was woven in front of him. A watery sun exposed the iridescent crystals that made up the woven wonder. His heart was content. Happy. Safe. Even if it was just a fleeting moment of respite. It was good.

Months later, Stiles would meet Jackson. But that’s another story. 

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a oneshot, but if feedback is favourable, I might be making this into a series. Also, this fic will likely be updated with some extra passages, more descriptions and dialogue and such (feedback is also quite welcome here!).  
> I love comments and kudos ;)
> 
>  
> 
> Enjoy!


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